"Pigeon Pages is a literary space where emerging and established writers from all backgrounds are encouraged to nest together. We seek to champion voices that are not always allowed to sing loudly."
Open:
Yes
Vibe: Send us your best but less intimidating
Response time:
3 months
Payment:
No
Simultaneous submissions:
Yes
Previously published:
No
Submission fee:
$5
Expedited submissions:
Yes
Available in print:
No
Examples online:
Yes

Important stuff

Active on social media
Always open for general submissions
Offer expedited response: $10 - response within 2 weeks
Submission fee

Genres

👌

Fiction

Max words: 4000Max pieces: 1
👌

Nonfiction

Max words: 4000Max pieces: 1
👌

Poetry

Max pieces: 5No more than 10 pages

Examples

'Considering the Unit of the Day' by Tracy Fuad

(excerpt)
Found myself unable to retrieve my laundry from the basement Oscillated between the poles of self-beratement and forgiveness The words appear in any order and I read them: why I am my wasting life Viewed a lot of pictures posted on Humans of Late Capitalism Viewed a trove of products Added to my cart a single pink stain Considered the optimal time to cancel Prime Concluded the time wasn’t now
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'Black and Brown People on Shark Tank' by Angbeen Saleem

(excerpt)
We are seeking one million dollars for 12% of our stories. This product will revolutionize the industry. We are revolutionaries. We are evolutionaries. I used to work in the restaurant business. I graduated from Harvard, Yale, and Princeton with a BA, MBA, PhD from all three. I’m a sophomore in college. I’m in high school. I’m 10 years old. I haven’t been born yet. My family told me I wasn’t going to make it. My family was very supportive. Yes, there is a need for this product in our communities. Yes, people have curly hair in our communities. Yes, people die in our communities.
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'Nothing Blacker Than My Bank Account' by Darnell “DeeSoul” Carson

(excerpt)
See how it moves? Drops low as my homegirls at a function? Picks up at the last second, my bank account be so dramatic. My bank account Blacker than me, always late, always right on time. My bank account hate me, says I don’t keep it fed, says I do all this work and still ain’t got no bread. I look at my bank account and feel closer to God. I whisper fuck like a curse, then a prayer, withdraw from the ATM: an offering into the pulpit of my hands. Oh, how blessed I am, how Black.
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'Spider' by Julie Lunde

(excerpt)
I have been afraid of spiders since before I can remember, since before I even knew the word for it; spider. Two weeks ago, as I was getting ready for a night out, a spider jumped out from behind my lipstick and my breath thudded heavy to the floor. This one was too large to consider squashing, large in the thick way that made it also furry like an animal. I couldn't leave him alone in my bedroom, unsupervised, so I took the only reasonable course of action and sat myself on the opposite side of the room, a bottle of wine in one hand and a handle of vodka in the other, watching and waiting.
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